


Baby Love

by Writcraft



Series: Rainy Day Ficlets [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Car Sex, Dean Winchester Teaches Castiel About Sex, First Time, Hand Jobs, Internalized Biphobia, Internalized Homophobia, Introspection, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Virgin Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 23:18:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15873750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: Dean and Castiel share a moment in the Impala.





	Baby Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shiftylinguini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiftylinguini/gifts).



> Written for the Bring Back the Porn 2018 challenge and for one of my rainy day kink prompts, left by lovely shifty, who asked for Destiel, road head in the Impala. I hope it kinda works for the prompt and you enjoy the fic, Shifty!! Thanks so much to Shelly and Torino for hosting this fab challenge, and to Torino for letting me get this up slightly late. This is my first Destiel, and I'm NERVOUS *bites nails*

Dean closes his eyes and tries to get comfortable. The Impala’s not the best sleeping place, but after Purgatory and that motel room in Wisconsin with roaches in the shower, Dean’s not picky. He rubs his eyes and tries to get into a good dream about those two hot waitresses from earlier. Tall, busty, blondes with hair down to their asses. It should be just what Dean needs to blow off the cobwebs of the day, but every time he closes his eyes the girls flicker in and out of his vision. They get replaced by the slide of a blade through skin; the acrid stench of bodies left to rot. The girls slip away into the shadows until it’s just a dull, dusty room and the barest trace of wings against a brick wall. _Fuck_. Dean needs some skin mags right the hell now. He reaches for his flask and takes a swig of sharp liquor to chase away the remnants of the day job.

Restless, he spreads his legs and runs the heel of his palm over his prick. It’s barely enough friction through his jeans, but it’ll do for the minute. The shadows are still there, but they’re slowly replaced by a cupid’s bow mouth and a tentative smile. Dean brushes his thumb over his dream partner’s full lips, which part invitingly to suck enthusiastically on his fingers. It’s just about to get interesting when a distinctive _whoosh_ gives Dean the distinct impression he’s being watched. He stills his hand and curses under his breath. 

“Cas?”

“Hello, Dean.” Cas shifts in the seat next to Dean. “Are you busy?” There’s a faint note of condemnation in his tone and Dean bristles at it.

Dean cracks open one eye and glares at Cas. “Up there with personal space, Cas. If I’ve got my hand on my junk—”

“—I should stay outside?” Cas frowns and reaches for the door. “I can go.”

“Stay.” Dean rolls his eyes and closes them again. “I need to sleep anyway.”

“Okay. I’ll just…wait here until morning.”

“You do that.” Dean turns his back to Cas. With any luck he’ll be asleep in a minute. Dean wishes Cas could just keep his holier than thou views on sex to himself. Dean isn’t one for moral judgment and he sure as hell isn’t about to temper his fantasies to appease an angel that’s been around for a crapton of years and hasn’t gone beyond wasting fifty bucks and scaring off a perfectly good escort by bringing up her daddy issues. If you ask Dean, Cas is the one with issues. Dude needs to get laid.

“I don’t understand humans and their constant need to touch themselves.” 

“Dude.” Dean turns again to glare at Cas. “Constant?”

Cas frowns and looks out of the windscreen. “I think I might like to try it.”

“Great. You do that. I’ll be sleeping.” Dean makes another pointed attempt at sleeping when a rustling next to him makes him jolt upright.

“Goddamnit, Cas! Not here.”

“Then where?” Cas’s fingers still on his zipper and the sight sends an unexpected flush of heat through Dean.

“I don’t know.” Dean bites back a groan, picturing a Sherriff arresting Cas on the side of the road. That trench coat gives off a certain kind of vibe. “Don’t you have some higher plane you can go to?”

Cas frowns. “I’d rather do it here.” He brightens. “Perhaps you could show me. You seem quite proficient.”

“ _Cas_.” Dean isn’t sure whether to feel outraged or complimented, so he ends up somewhere between the two. He resents the implication he enjoys solo time with his right hand and his laptop whenever the opportunity presents itself, even if it’s largely true. 

Cas gives Dean a baleful look. “Have I angered you with my observations?”

Dean calms himself and shakes his head. “No, buddy.” He pauses before putting a hand on Cas’s shoulder. It’s very _bros being bros_. No problem, nothing to see here. Dean keeps his gaze firmly fixed on Cas, ignoring the twitch of interest from his traitorous prick at the thought of Cas opening his trousers with slow purpose. It makes Dean’s mouth water and that’s something he sure as hell isn’t going to unpack. “It’s a one-man thing. Something you do _alone_ ,” Dean adds, pointedly.

“I don’t understand you, Dean.” There’s the slide of a zipper and Cas folds his hands in his lap, thankfully buttoned up again. “I thought you liked company.”

“Yeah, well. Not for this.” Dean huffs out a breath and faces forwards. Only Cas could appear out of fuck knows where and insinuate Dean is needy and spends most of his time jerking off. “I need a piss. Don’t go anywhere.”

Cas shrugs in response, and Dean opens the door to let in the chill of the night. He finds a spot by some bushes out of sight of the car and pisses as he looks up at the night sky. It’s getting to be a problem, this thing with Cas. They need boundaries beyond _keep out of my personal space_. Dean’s good at boundaries, unless he’s drinking. The great thing about drinking is Dean can blame everything on the booze. If a busboy wants to suck Dean off after a whiskey or twelve, it’s just getting off, man. Just taking it where he can get it; seeking out human contact wherever it’s offered. Life on the road does that to a person. It fucks you up in the head, makes you do things you shouldn't.

Dean tucks himself into his jeans and zips them up. He gets back into the car, strangely relieved to find Cas still sitting there. It’s not like Dean can’t be by himself, he’s not a pussy. He just prefers it when there’s someone else around. It keeps the noise at bay for a bit. He reaches for his flask and takes a swig, offering it to Cas. _You can’t put it down to booze,_ his brain niggles. _Not with Cas_. When Cas doesn’t take the offered flask, Dean steals another couple of glugs. 

“I thought you weren’t drinking?”

“Don’t start, Cas.” Dean takes a final swig and winces, dropping the flask in the foot well and yanking off his coat. Sharing a profound bond is one thing but watching someone whack off is another. Not to mention Dean is straight. He’s all about the tits and ass and lets people know it frequently and often. If his jerking off fantasies sometimes involve a worryingly familiar angel, well…that’s what a stretch in Purgatory does to a person. Dean just needs to go to a strip club again. Soon. 

“I should go,” Cas says, which is odd because he doesn’t usually bother saying goodbye. 

“Don’t.” Dean’s voice is rougher than usual. He drums his fingers on his knee and clears his throat, choosing his words carefully. “You probably won’t like it anyway.” It’s possible. Cas likes a lot of things he shouldn’t and doesn’t like a lot of things he should. 

“What if I do?” Dean can tell Cas is watching him and it makes his breath catch.

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Dean replies, the booze and heat of the confined space making him more open than usual. _Don’t fuck around with Cas_ , his brain whispers. _He’s not one of your boys whose names you pretend to forget_. Dean curses under his breath. “Not a word of this to Sammy. Not a word of this to _anyone_.”

“Who would I tell, Dean?” The doleful look is back and Castiel pulls at his tie. “Should I take off my clothes?”

“No. _No_.” Dean swallows at the thought of naked Cas and the space between them suddenly gets impossibly small. He looks out of the window and confirms they’re definitely in the middle of nowhere. The last thing he wants is to have to explain to anyone why he and Cas are in jail for indecent exposure. “Just do what I do, and no touching each other.”

It feels better somehow, with the no touching rule in place. Just two dudes getting off because it’s been a long ass week. Dean doesn’t even have to watch Cas. He just needs Cas to watch him. Dean’s not bad performing under pressure. It’s not his first rodeo. Dean opens the door, grabbing his shit off the backseat and shoving it in the trunk. 

Cas follows, watching Dean over the roof of the car. “Are we moving?”

“Yeah. Yeah Cas, we’re moving.” Dean doesn’t pause to consider _why_ even as his brain helpfully supplies images of Cas stretched out with Dean over him, fucking down and reaching between them to—

 _Jesus_. Dean swallows, already half hard. He gets in the back seat and tries to ignore the sweat on his palms and the way his fingers tremble as he unzips himself, not looking over when the door slams and Cas settles beside him. “Just do what I do,” he repeats. _Don’t look, don’t reach out, don’t think about him, don’t come with his name on your lips, don’t, don’t, doesn’t, isn’t_. Dean draws a shaky breath and leans back, his legs spread and his hand moving steadily over his prick. He closes his eyes. Next to him there’s a rustle and a sigh, the slap of palm against flesh and the hitch and hum as breathing gets laboured. There’s so much heat between them. The air in the small space zings and pulses with it, every stroke of Dean’s hand over his cock dragging more sensations from his body which send a desperate need through his shaking bones. He can practically feel the hungry slide of Cas’s eyes over his exposed flesh and no matter how hard he tries, Dean can’t recall the waitresses from before. He can’t picture anything but Cas. The lips that part in a smile, the circumference of Cas’s mouth as it forms an _O_ of surprise around Dean’s fingers, the curve of his backside and Dean's fingers wet with lube sliding inside...

“That good?” Dean’s voice is fractured and broken, his fingers squeezing around himself in a subconscious attempt to prolong the moment.

“Yes.” Cas is breathless, his response a sibilant curl at the end of the word. A shudder of pleasure runs through Dean and he tries to ignore the low groan from Cas next to him. It’s a lot. More than Dean thought it would be. His palms are sticky, his body sweating with the need to touch. It crashes over him, wave after wave of restless desire. For the first time in a long time, Dean’s own hand just isn’t going to get the job done. He licks his lips, his throat suddenly dry.

“Do you want—?” Dean can't bring himself to say it. The _don't touch_ rule was the only thing keeping them safe. 

“Please.” Cas seems to know instinctively what Dean’s asking him. When Dean meets Cas’s eyes finally, he drinks in the flush in his cheeks and the slant of his lips tilting into a hopeful smile. They move closer, magnetised by the full force of desire and months of pent-up want. Dean groans and fists his free hand into Cas’s hair. 

When their lips finally meet, Castiel’s mouth tastes inevitable.

*

The kiss is a hot, blissful fight of a thing. It sends need rolling through Dean and he pushes Cas back in the cramped, dark space. Cas goes willingly, his hands finding Dean and tugging at Dean’s t-shirt as if he’s just as desperate to feel skin against skin as Dean is.

“Okay, Cas?” Even in his moment of urgent need, Dean has enough of his wits about him to pull back from the kiss to check he isn’t overstepping. _It’s Cas,_ his mind supplies. _He hasn’t done this before_. That thought makes Dean harder than it should and he sucks at the pulse point on Cas’s neck, tasting the thrum of it against his tongue. He imagines being able to take his time with Cas, stretching him out on a bed and showing him all the tricks of the trade until Cas is wrecked. Dean would like to wreck Cas. He wants to pull a blissed-out smile from him and bury himself in the strong heat of Cas for a day or three. A lost weekend would do it. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere, fucking, sucking and tasting every part of one another to quell the deep seated hunger that rises within Dean; the need for pleasures he rarely allows himself to take.

“I see…I see why you like this so much.” Cas rocks into Dean, tipping his head back as he exposes more of his throat. 

Dean lets the fact Cas has basically called him easy slide and ignores the insistent voice that reminds him that how much Dean does like this, specifically. He likes the intensity and rage he can put into fucking other men. He pours out his desires into bruising kisses and rough, eager moments when pleasure spikes. He likes hard bodies, the weight and heat of a solid prick in his mouth and the scent of raw, masculine sweat. Dean pulls open Cas’s shirt and gets his mouth on every inch of hot flesh he can reach. He breathes in the parts where the scent of Cas is the strongest and makes his way lower. He holds Cas down with a firm hand as he takes him into the back of his throat, not missing the buck and shudder of pleasure that runs through Cas’s frame. 

“Dean, I feel…” Cas sounds broken apart, his words a plea for something more.

“I know, Cas.” Dean slides off Cas and swipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Let it happen.”

Cas is flushed, his skin burning beneath Dean’s fingers. His response is to nod and trail tentative fingers into Dean’s hair as Dean takes Cas into the back of his throat again. Dean chases away the pulse of desire, the wish they had all night and a bed to roll around in. The things he wants to do to Cas – with Cas. The things he’s always wanted to do from that first moment between them when electricity crackled and Dean knew he was screwed. Dean slides his tongue over Cas and tastes the salty warmth of him. He groans, low in his throat and puts his hands on Cas’s hips to keep him steady. There’s cloth and flesh beneath his fingers and he grips onto Cas hard enough to bruise, as Cas bucks beneath him and gasps and groans with pleasure.

When Cas reaches his climax, Dean savours the taste of him. He doesn't usually like spunk, but he doesn't want to spit in his car and he figures there's probably something lucky about angel jizz. Grinning to himself at the thought, Dean slides off Cas and straddles him, keeping his head bowed so it doesn’t hit the roof of the car. He presses his hand against the window where it leaves a slick print against the cloudy glass. With a grunt of pleasure, Dean holds Cas’s eyes as he fists his prick. The moment takes on almost painful urgency, the overwhelming desire to suck, taste, bite and _love_ pulsing through Dean’s veins, hot and insistent. Cas's eyes roam over Dean's face, his gaze dropping to Dean's cock and flaring with a hunger that takes Dean by surprise. Cas licks his lips and the bone-shaking force of Dean's climax hits him, leaving everything sticky and warm. 

Catching his breath, Dean slides off Cas who struggles to sit up. He grabs a rag from the floor of the car and hands it to Cas. “Clean up.”

“Okay.” Cas adjusts his shirt and wipes the last traces of Dean from his skin. Dean wishes it could be as simple as that. He knows it’s going to take more than a dusty rag to wipe the traces of Cas from the parts of his body that Cas touched with warm, inquisitive fingers. The taste of Cas on his lips still lingers and Dean swallows thickly, glancing to the side.

“You get it now?”

“I think so.” Cas gives Dean a wry smile, his eyes lingering on Dean’s lips for a beat too long. “You’re a good teacher, Dean.”

“Yeah, well. Lesson’s over.” Dean pushes a hand through his hair and sets his jaw. It doesn’t matter what kind of lies he tells himself. He knows however much he talks about endings, this is just the beginning. 

“I see.” Cas adjusts his tie and looks out of the window. “I think you’re in pain.”

Dean rolls his eyes and leans forward to grab his flask. He can feel Cas’s eyes on him as he reaches into the front seat. “It’s rude to stare, Cas. If you’re going to check out my ass, you’ll need to throw me a few bucks.”

“I like looking at you,” Cas replies. There’s a terrifying, honest simplicity in his words and Dean has to fight back the instinctive _I like looking at you too_.

“I’m not into any of that ass stuff.” Dean takes a long drink from his flask, the lie heavy and bitter on his tongue. The sharpness of the whiskey is familiar and soothing, dulling the roar in his head and the overwhelming sense that nothing will be the same again.

“What ass stuff?” Cas sounds curious and _no, no, no_ , this is how they got into this whole godamn mess in the first place.

“Forget it.” Dean runs a hand across his chin, the itch of his stubble sharp against his hand.

“Is it different with a woman?” The question is so innocent, Dean knows Cas couldn't understand the weight of what he's asking.

“Yeah, Cas. It’s different.” 

“Better?” 

Dean’s lips tighten, and he closes his eyes as his heart thumps resolutely in his chest. “No,” he says, finally. “Not better.”

When Dean opens his eyes again, there’s an empty space where Castiel sat just moments before.

“Bye, Cas,” Dean murmurs.

It's a long time before he falls into a fitful sleep, dreaming of angel wings and kissing in the shadows beneath an apocalyptic sky.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr [here](https://writcraft.tumblr.com/) for SPN, HP and Sherlock and [here](https://writsgrimmyblog.tumblr.com/) for popstars and DJs.
> 
> rebloggable tumblr post for the fic [here](https://writcraft.tumblr.com/post/177688856173/baby-love-dean-winchestercastiel-dean-and)


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